


No Box Big Enough

by NorroenDyrd



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff without Plot, Implied Sexual Content, Inner Dialogue, Tal-Vashoth Iron Bull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 09:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13244934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: The Iron Bull is quite content being Tal-Vashoth - because he will always have his kadan by his side.





	No Box Big Enough

‘You know, Bull,’ Trevelyan muses as she scoops up her springy mane of golden hair to tie it into her habitual bun (unable to hold back a smirk when she looks at herself in the mirror on her nightstand and spots the raw red bite marks along the soft inward curve of her long pale neck).   
  
'Solas was wrong to turn his nose up on the Qun the way he did in his arguments with you. People are the same everywhere; we all just love assigning roles to everyone - and Solas isn’t all that special himself, lumping all the Dalish together as ignorant children! We love splitting the world into these neat little boxes, with clear labels on everything… Because it helps us make sense of all this madness around us. Except…’  
  
  
'Except,’ Bull finishes for her (unlike Trevelyan, he is in no particular hurry to get dressed; but then again, he never considered philosophical debates and airing out one’s privates after long hard work to be mutually exclusive).   
  
'Except madness still catches up with you, and you have to deal with it. Even if the box no longer fits’.  
  
  
That was how he felt on Seheron - like the cozy, familiar, manageable box, assigned to him by his Tama when he was still a tiny stub-horned thing with a vicious hate for greens, was all bursting at the seams, having grown soggy and mangled with all the blood and smoke and screaming. He was scared then, so damn scared - thinking that he would lose himself without a box. Without a label. Without something that would make him feel like a perfectly honed, functional tool.  
  
  
Now, though; no he is far from being scared. Even though his label has been torn off. He’s got a family now: a bunch of misfits that are all too loud, too bristly, too patchwork-like to line any box properly; even ones like Cassandra (who keeps asking herself questions that come really close to prodding holes in her box) or Cullen (whose box was moulded of poison that he is now trying to fight) or Blackwall (whose box was not even a real box at all). And he’s got Trevelyan - and ooh shit, he does not know any box big enough to contain all that he feels for her. The excitement of drawing her open, her pulse like a war song under his heavy fingertips; the odd, melting weakness of seeing her turn around and smile at him, or give him a reassuring touch when he feels that all the stuff on his mind is just about to overwhelm him; the roaring joy of hoisting her up on his shoulders, flushed and breathless and with splatters of gore on her round peach-fuzzy cheeks, and parading around the battlefield, after kicking ass in yet another, absolutely spectacular display of prowess; the bright, tingling burst of getting carried away talking about some thing that gets them both going; the thick, blanket-like warmth of just sitting side by side with her, lazing about, surrounded by platefuls of sweetmeats; the grounding, bolstering sensation of knowing that every time he reaches for his neck, his fingers will meet the carved surface of the split dragon tooth - a token reassuring him that his kadan will always be part of him, wherever he goes.  
  
  
Ain’t no box big enough for all of that.


End file.
